Spero
by annoyed
Summary: I felt the wind get knocked out of me as for some odd reason Hermione Granger has never been introduced to a book bag.
1. Observations of Vincent Crabbe

**Spero**

**Chapter 1: Observations of Vincent Crabbe**

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I've heard the things they say about us. That me and Greg are dense, thick, slow; the list goes on and on. I'm not smart, no not at all, but I'm not completely lacking. It's as if everyone thinks that we were especially made to follow Draco around. We're not like little puppy dogs on Draco's leash. No, not at all. 

We've grown up with Draco Malfoy. I've known him and Greg since we were little children. Infamous parents dabbling in the Dark Arts and such. Draco certainly doesn't need us to protect him. He can do that on his own. Besides, we have our own lives, our own interests; girls, Quidditch, causing our own trouble.

But we do hang around, I think for two reasons, although I'm not sure about Greg though. He is as thick as they say. Greg sticks around for the company, and because we're friends. I stick around for that as well, but there's also the factor of Mr. Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy wants us to keep tabs. Report on Draco, how he's doing, what he's doing. Malfoys are like that, they trust no one. Not even their own kin.

The two Malfoy males have a rather odd relationship. Draco wants so much to be like his father, yet at the same time despises him and would like nothing more than to see him fall. The funny thing about that is Lucius would probably be proud of his son's ambition to destroy him.

So I have been keeping tabs. All these years and I'm quite sure Draco hasn't caught on. Sometimes I think I've gone crazy, reporting on my friend like this. But it has to be done. My observations of Draco. Some would call that disloyal, but I'm not a bloody Gryffindor, I'm a Slytherin. I do it out of love. Really, the stupid misconception of Slytherins is that we don't love. But we do love. We love for the same reasons as everyone else, it's just that different things motivate us. Everyone has a price, and observations are what I deal in.

For the same reason I use Greg to help keep tabs on Draco. He's quite good at observing the masses. He's brought several things to my attention. Like the way that youngest Weasley looking looks at Potter sometimes. Though whoever couldn't see that is a right idiot.

Observing Draco has led me to look at the rest of the world under a microscope. More obscure things are like when Greg mentioned back in second year that Millicent was quite fond of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, but only the sardine flavour. Or like in fourth year when I noticed if anyone ever mentioned the word saucer, Adrian Pucey, a sixth year, would tense up. I never did figure that one out.

As of late I've been very suspicious of Draco. Sure, he's got a lot on his mind. His father is pressing him harder than ever to be more active as a Death Eater. School, he always tells his father, is taking up his time. Somehow he twists it about and has his father agreeing that his education is important and so the Death Eaters can come after. I don't know whether it's Draco who's got Lucius playing his game or if it's the other way around.

Draco has even met Voldemort himself. He was there at Draco's initiation, though he didn't bother showing up to mine or Greg's. Not that I want the attention of the Dark Lord. As smart as Draco Malfoy is, as rich as he is, as much power as he holds, I would not want to be him. He has big shoes to fill, a name to keep intact. I'm not sure he cares much for it, though.

I'm sure he's up to something. Plotting most likely. If not how he can be better than his father, then how he can overthrow his father. The things he does now, the things he says. They confuse me and leave me questioning him. It's not obvious to all. It's the little things.

I noticed the other day, during the autumn of our sixth year, that his ring was missing. The ring that he had started wearing but three years prior. It was nothing special. For all his extravagance as a Malfoy, the flair he shared with both parents, this was quite dull, yet at the same time it was striking. A band of sliver mimicking a serpent with an emerald stone. Spero was engraved on the inside of the band; he had shown me. "It means hope," he had told me. He never took it off.

Hope for what, I'm still not sure. I could see the gears turning in his head as he gazed at the ring. What he hopes for scares me. What desire he does not have filled I do not know, I cannot tell. Draco Malfoy is not stupid; for him to hope, to believe something is possible even when there is some evidence to the contrary, is stupid. But the ring did represent his perseverance if nothing more.

Now where was it? It was something he played with as he thought about something. It was always a sign he was troubled by his thoughts. He even wore the ring through Quidditch matches. Not something smart to do. It was like wearing a pendant while swimming, you were bound to lose it. Something my cousin does often, which is followed by a lot of yelling from her mother.

It was nowhere to be seen. He was not one who lost things. He grew tired of things, he threw them away. If in a generous mood he gave things as gifts. But that ring was a gift given to him by his own mother. The only woman – no _person_ – who could melt Draco's cold exterior and break his heart. Draco would not have grown tired of any ornament his mother gave him. Not even a little bauble. He would lose himself if he ever lost his mother's love.

Walking with Draco and Greg down the corridor I mused about all these things as the two carried on a conversation about Quidditch. The same conversation ever year. It never really varied. The goal, beat the Gryffindors. How? With as much shame upon them as possible.

Variations of the same conversation took place between many Slytherins. The rivalry was a deep rooted thing in all Slytherins as well as Gryffindors brought out by public functions. Slytherins and Gryffindors were people, and people get along generally. However, in public I've often found people to be crueler than usual. What I mean to say is I could get along with someone if I wanted to, even a Gryffindor. But put me in a situation in which I could show others I'm better in some way or another, and I'll be as mean and cunning as I can just to prove it.

My thoughts dissolve as I heard the laughter in the courtyard as we round the corner and come upon it. Halloween is always a fun day, giving way to a fun-filled night. Anything and everything could happen. A big plus is always the Halloween feast in the Great Hall. My stomach growls at the prospect.

"Hungry already, Crabbe?" Draco jokes.

"Yeah, I suppose I am," I tell him, patting my stomach.

"The feast is in an hour," he drawls, "I'm sure you can wait until then, can't you?"

"I can try," I reply. "I won't promise anything though".

He laughs at this, he's always laughing at me and Greg. Greg's so stupid he joins in. It's in earnest though, almost like he's still an eight year old. Sometimes I pity him. The three of us head for a group of other Slytherins.

As I pass Granger and the little Weasley I notice a flash of green around her neck. I can't be sure, but I think she's wearing _it_.

I can't help but glance at her repeatedly while everyone chats. I'm left alone to my thoughts because everyone but Greg thinks I've got nothing to say. Which is true for the most part. I've never really felt much need to indulge in the politics of Slytherin House. Only if someone makes me an offer I can't refuse.

"Greg, _shut up_," I tell him as he starts telling me about a third year Slytherin he's interested in. He looks at me arms crossed and brows furrowed like a very large two year old. "Look, over there," I tell him, and point.

He follows my finger and asks "What, the Mudblood?"

"Yes, her," I confirm, "do you see, round her neck, what is that?" I allude to the necklace and its hanging friend. Greg looks across the courtyard intensely. He looks as if he's using all his brainpower. A frown plastered on his face, he looks back to me and shrugs.

I sigh the same sigh I always give when he's denser than usual. "Greg," I start to explain, "listen to me, I need you to keep an eye out for what she's got around her neck."

"Yeah, okay." He nods.

He may not understand why, but he'll do it anyway. He's a good friend like that. Loyal in one way, but I wouldn't be surprised to find him turn on me one day. And not out of calculation or cunning, no, he doesn't have the wit for that. Just out of pure idiocy.

I watch for a moment as he leaves. Walking off to only Merlin knows where. Throughout the rest of the day I keep my eye on her. The swinging ring on her necklace that she fingered every time she looked to be thinking. Mostly she tried to keep it tucked in her sweater, but the chain is too short and it slips out.

Partway through lunch in the Great Hall she's doing it again. I'm pretty sure now that it was Draco's ring. She watches across the hall and he takes no notice while he eats. I think she saw me looking because as quickly as she had looked at him, she looks away.

"What're you looking at?" Draco hisses at me. He eyes me suspiciously, giving me the once-over.

Maybe I'm dreaming. "Nothing," I tell him, going back to my notes. I contemplated whether I should tell him right then and there, but think better of it. The feast, maybe I'll mention it before the feast. I nod my head and turn my attention back to Professor McGonagall.

Later that evening Greg comes by with information. What he has to say verifies my suspicions. But why would _she_ of all people have the ring? I still can't figure it out.

Before we enter the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, I stop Draco. I ask Draco what happened to his ring but without mentioning her. He claims to have lost it a few days earlier. I had played this scene in my head every way I could think, but it did not end like this.

I then tell him, "Granger's got it."

I expected anger. I thought he would storm off to demand it back. It was from his mother, surely it meant _something_ to him. But instead Draco casually replies, "she can have it." I stood there, obviously confused. He gives me a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

I walk with him, still completely befuddled at his actions. I almost completely missed the small smirk at Granger while we walked to the table. It still doesn't add up in my mind. There's no way even by magic that this is plausible. I have to figure out how she got that ring. Lucius would want to know. That familiar twang in my stomach appeared. It happens every time I had to speak with Lucius. For now, I brush it away. It's Halloween, time to enjoy myself. As soon as the food appears, my thoughts disappear and the feeling goes with it.

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	2. Unconditional Love

**Spero**

**Chapter 2: Unconditional Love**

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If you'd forgotten:_That familiar twang in my stomach appeared. It happens every time I had to speak with Lucius. For now, I brush it away. It's Halloween, time to enjoy myself. As soon as the food appears, my thoughts disappear and the feeling goes with it._**  
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He is tall, not large-boned but densely, solidly built, an athlete, with a distinct physical presence. He'd grown into the kind of man who, shaking your hand, looks you directly in the eye and he's already got your respect. It was a leap from the usual. 

He'd been dubbed the "obligatory psychotic jackass" of Hogwarts, because there is _always_ one. His slogan being "nothing's ever my fault." He can be an arrogant, smug, vindictive jerk. He can sometimes be stupid and reckless. Always rubbing his wealth and privilege in the faces of those less fortunate. He does some really evil things sometimes. So why, oh why am I smitten with Draco Malfoy?

Is it the desperate need for unconditional love? Not mine, but his. Maybe.

Merlin, a part of me feels like giggling while another part of me wants to slap myself silly and say, "_seriously_?" all day long. It is yet to be decided which side will win out.

I see him walk into the Great Hall with Crabbe. I swear he's been eyeing me. It's a little disconcerting but when Draco gives me that signature smirk I put it to the back of my mind. It's not the usual smirk filled with hatred and malice, but one he gives me as if we're sharing a joke.

"Hey! Thomas, don't look at my sister like that," I turn to see Ron pulling a finger across his neck. Ginny throws a roll at him and glares. She'd come in the other day and thrown a fit. Ranting about how terrible Ron could be. How she could look after herself. Their quarrels always sent me to bed with a headache. It's no use trying to mediate or take a side. In the end they have unconditional love for each other; they are siblings, after all.

Ever since he'd happened on Dean snogging Ginny, Ron's been as touchy as your average Blast-Ended Skrewt. He's always watching them, looking out for Ginny he says. I'm glad he's finally doing what a big brother is supposed to do, but this is a little much. Even so much as a look between the two or a simple 'Hello' and he goes postal.

I'm glad I have Harry, though. He balances out Ron's rash temper. With out him I don't know how I could deal with Ron at all. I'm not sure how anyone could.

Well, maybe Lavender. "Ron," she coos, taking his attention off of Ginny and Dean. She's been paying him a fair bit of attention lately. It came straight out of left field. Generally you'd hear about these things. Whom Lavender liked, I mean. Her She and Parvati are constantly talking about those things.

I think I would just die if she ever sunk her claws into him. I like her, I do. It's just she can be a bit much at times. I think I'm regretting playing a part in McLaggen not getting onto the Quidditch team. Lavender would have never noticed Ron if he weren't Keeper.

As it gets closer to midnight people leave the Great Hall on their way back to bed. The Professors aren't strict tonight about curfew. It's Halloween and a good time should be had by all. I join those who left are leaving, waving a goodbye to Harry and Ron.

Ron doesn't even notice, as Lavender is inviting him back to the common room. I almost want to stay now. Go back to the common room and keep and eye on the two. Just so they don't wind up breaking school rules is all.

I don't like Ronald.

Instead of heading for Gryffindor Tower, I'm off to the west wing of the castle. The only light provided is from intermittent torches on the wall. Where there are windows, the moon provides a soft eerie light. I walk through Hogwarts to meet _him_.

A hand on my arm pulls me into the dark toward the warmth of a gentle kiss. I find myself giggling like a schoolgirl in his arms. "What are we doing?" I ask as I look up at him, a grin plastered on both of our faces. I'm not sure whether his or mine is bigger. I search those gray eyes of his for an answer.

I don't find one until he whispers, "no idea," before leaning in for another kiss. It's nice knowing that I'm not the only one who doesn't know what's going on. What this thing is between us. This is all I want to feel tonight. I feel so light. Whether this is right or wrong I'm really not sure. It's confusing.

Steps sound as someone happens upon the two of us. I bury my face in Draco's chest to hide my identity; what would people say if they found Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger snogging in a corridor? "What?" he hisses at whoever it is. I turn to see a girl going quickly toward Ravenclaw Tower, blonde hair shimmering in the light.

I look back to him, studying his face. He raises his eyebrows, probably wondering what I'm thinking. "Do you think this – thing will ever get more normal?" I ask, a hand on his cheek.

His hand goes to mine. "What, like will we ever go to Hogsmeade together? Take a stop-off at Madam Puddifoot's Tea House? Go for a stroll holding hands and buy each other teddy bears with hearts that say _I wuv you bear-y much?_"

"Yes, exactly that," I tease, "except I want my bear won through some sort of demonstration of manly ring-tossing ability." He laughs and nuzzles my hand. It's not really a bad notion. I quite like the idea myself.

Planting a soft kiss on my hand he tells me, "Maybe, one day." I know just as much as him that my question was naive. The odds are against us. Something like this isn't supposed to happen. But it's nice having someone humor you.

Taking my hand in his he leads me down the corridor. Going to a boarding school it's hard to find a place of your own. A deserted classroom isn't exactly what one would call romantic. For now it will have to do, I suppose.

It's sweet, this side of Draco Malfoy. I haven't seen it before and I have to say I'm absolutely smitten with it. I want so much for this to be real. At times I pinch myself just to make sure. He laughs at me every time.

Planing a kiss on my forehead he tells me, "It's real."

A part of me is holding back. The honest truth is I wasn't prepared for this. Any of it. I like to know what I'm getting into and there's nothing wrong with that. What compels me to do this? Just a gut feeling, I suppose. Our pairing just defies all logic.

I don't know if this will work, but I hope it will. Is it really too much to ask for? Or is my hope that Harry will kill Voldemort and everything will be alright too much? Then maybe I'll get to walk with Draco in Hogsmeade holding hands. I can see it, I just don't know if it will happen.

Is it the desperate need for unconditional love? Yes, most definitely. And not just on his part.

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**If you've reached this far**** please review. It's always baffled me that I could only get 4 reviews out of about 200 people.**


	3. Don't Kid Yourself

**Spero **

**Chapter 3: Don't Kid Yourself**

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Last time_ Idon't know if this will work, but I hope it will. Is it really too much to ask for? Or is my hope that Harry will kill Voldemort and everything will be alright too much? Then maybe I'll get to walk with Draco in Hogsmeade holding hands. I can see it, I just don't know if it will happen._

Is it the desperate need for unconditional love? Yes, most definitely. And not just on his part.

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Draco Malfoy is so rude. I just so happen on him and some girl in the corridor. Clinging to her tightly, he tells me rudely, "What?" I give him my most beatific smile and go off quickly. I wasn't spying, I just _happened_ upon them. What is he doing in the west wing anyway? I don't even think that girl was a Ravenclaw, so it just doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

Telling the drapery the password, Jobberknoll, I am allowed entrance into Ravenclaw tower. Instead of staying in the common room I head to the girls lavatory. It's here in the corner that there's a loose tile. Behind it is the entrance to a tunnel that leads to the owlery.

It's nice here with the owls. There's nothing like animal friends. They really understand you. They don't judge. Not like people. I hear them, look there goes loony Luna Lovegood. I'm odd, strange, crazy, flaming mad, amongst a slew of other things.

No, I'm none of those things. I am a free spirit. I think Hermione said it best, I do follow the beat of a different drummer. Quite frankly I'm the one banging the drum! Who's to say what's normal anyway? Without my unique idiosyncrasies, who would I be? Where would I be? I can say proudly that no one else will ever be like me.

It's cold here, the wind swirls around my feet, and I look at the stone floor for a while. Just watching the dirt, the sticks and the leaves the wind picks up and blows around. They get caught in cross winds and a little cyclone swirls at my feet.

Moments like these I like the most. People are alright – sometimes. I could sit alone for hours. Thinking, discovering, talking to the owls or whatever other creature crosses my path. I don't know why more people don't do it.

An owl, Millburry, comes to chat. He's Pansy Parkinson's owl. Funny how I can get along with him, but she would probably never give me the time of day. These are the things I think about. How insecure I feel at times. I'm not so different, even though everyone thinks I am. I'm not mysterious. Nobody is as mysterious as they think they are.

Often I feel as though people are sleeping through life, never seeing everything. I wish they'd wake up and join me. Or not join me; I like having my own world. Having people pass through it sometimes. It's better that way.

I stay in the owlery as long as possible. It is deathly cold outside. I'm not wearing the proper attire to be out this late at night. Especially in this weather. Halloween nights are generally cold; I'm not sure why I didn't bother to take bring my scarf and cloak. So, saying goodbye to my fine feathered friends, I go back inside.

In Ravenclaw tower I can not for the life of me find my mug. I usually leave it on my bedstand. Sometimes it can be found downstairs in the common room, on the window sill, on the fireplace mantle, on a table, and once I found it between the cushions of the couch. I don't know where it could be now.

Terry Boot is sleeping in a chair. I wave my hand back and forth in front of his face just to make sure. He's out cold. I reach for the parchment and quill on the table in front of him. Looks as if he was finishing up a Potions essay. Borrowing a blank piece I write out in my familiar bubble lettering:

**Will whoever keeps taking my mug STOP IT. It is very annoying. **

**Have a little respect for other people's property.**

**Luna**

I post it on the billboard amongst the other announcements. It's right next to the announcement that a wand had been lost, which covered the announcement from the week earlier about a wand that had been found. Next to that the Quidditch team's practice schedule was posted. Above that was a notice that the Arithmacy Club's next meeting was moved to Thursday.

I don't bother to read any of the other postings. I know that I would be disappointed to again read that there was no one who wanted to be on the school newspaper. I have gone to Professor Flitwick asking about a newspaper. Or even a flyer, something. He said yes, if I could find anyone who wanted to do it. So far, all I've got is Colin Creevey to take pictures. But what do I do with all these pictures and no stories?

I drag myself upstairs trying not to think about the disappointment floating around in my stomach. I feel a little nauseous as I drift off to sleep. Right in the pit of my kidney, my left one to be specific.

In Transfiguration I sit with Ginny. I listen as she tells me about the dream she had last night about Dean. It's a little too steamy for me, I blush at the details. An excellent idea pops into my head. Maybe I can't have a whole newspaper, but I could have a flyer if I got a few people.

"Ginny," I tread on waters unknown.

"Yes, Luna?" Ginny says.

"As you know, I'm head of the newspaper."

"You are?"

"Yes, I am."

"Oh, well that's nice. How's that going?"

"Well," pausing I readjust my glasses, that I don't actually have, but like to think I have because it adds a dignified air about me. "Nowhere really," she starts to say she's sorry, "but, I have a really spectacular idea."

"I'm sure," Ginny says.

"Why don't you write a column?"

"About?' she says unsure.

"About, oh I don't know, gossip? Anything really. Ginny, do you know anyone who would write for me?"

"I don't know," she tells me, then adds "I can always ask around though."

A reassuring smile makes me feel like my hope isn't going to waste. I hope for a lot of things, and sometimes I do know they may be far-fetched, but I wouldn't hope unless I knew there was a chance. Miracles _can_ happen. I've seen them.

"Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonnagal grabs my attention. "How would one transfigure the teacup I see before me into a living breathing thing such as a – " She searches for an example.

"A Grapbeak?" I offer.

"You mean a Graphorn, Miss Lovegood."

"No, Professor, a lot of people think that," I explain, "A Grapbeak is the cousin of a Graphorn, but not to be mistaken for one. Rather than two horns it has two beaks. It's an extremely interesting creature."

She peers at me over her glasses, "Erm, yes I'm sure it is, Miss Lovegood. Back to my question. How would one transfigure this teacup into a Grap – "

"– beak," I finish her sentence. She looks at me with pursed lips for a moment.

"Yes, a Grapbeak." Her hands are clasped in that way she always has them as she waits for my answer. I scratch my nose, which I like to think of as a stentorian nose, even though stentorian is actually a tone of voice, and squint.

"Miss Lovegood?" Professor McGonagall calls me out of my thoughts.

"Yes?" I ask.

"The teacup?" She motions to it.

"Well you see, Professor, I'm not quite sure. I know how you would turn a tea_pot_ into a Grapbeak, it makes total and complete sense, what with the spout and such. It would of course have to be one of those special double spouted teapots," I comment.

"Oh, Miss Lovegood," she sighs, in that way she always does with me. I hear Ginny snort as she tries to hold in the laughter, and I turn, giving her a smile. Professor McGonagall has moved on, as usual, "Creevey! How would you turn this teacup into an – animal?"

After being assigned a lengthy paper from Professor McGonagall due the next day, I decide that skipping lunch is my best option if I ever wanted want to finish the paper. After grabbing some extra parchment and quills from my room I head to the library. Here, in amongst the shelves, I search for a book on the Transfiguration of non-living things to living things. I am soon distracted by the numerous books about creatures. Care of Magical Creatures is easily my favorite class. I've often spent hours sitting and reading about creatures. Small ones, big ones, round ones, ones that can't talk, or walk or see. I know them all. Maybe not all, but a great deal of them.

I see Hermione come in – I want to call out hello but I notice Madame Pince only a few metres away. Thin and wiry, she hovers, waiting to hush me. I often marvel at how much she resembles a Toosoan, with her large nose and strangely skinny frame. As she passes me she gives me a look of great disapproval. At the end of the row of books she stops and turns. "Ms Lovegood, you will remember to treat my books with respect and pick them up off the floor, won't you?"

"Yes Madame Pince," I mumble and start to gather the books from around me.

At my own table in the library I sit alone chewing on the inside of my cheek, staring wide-eyed at the mess I've made. Crumpled up parchment, because I made too many mistakes. That's all that's left from me wracking my brains. And now I'm scared to death it was all one big fluke. Did I ever write anything that was actually good?

It shouldn't be this hard. Another page is ripped out, groaned at and destroyed. It's a paper for Transfiguration of all things. But it got a person thinking: Come on! write something good! I'm getting upset doing something I once enjoyed. This is it, this bloody Transfiguration paper! This marks the end. My inspiration has run dry. I can't do it anymore. No words come out. I'm not even sure why.

Amongst the crumpled balls of my Transfiguration paper is the notice I put up. The one about the newspaper.

**Who would want to write a newspaper with bloody barmy Loony Lovegood!? Don't kid yourself.**

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**Please, as all writers do, I thrive on feed back! So leave a review. **

**I just wanted to say thank you for all the reviews I _have_ gotten. I'm really happy that people enjoyed the first chapter so much! I was hoping it would be something a little different from what people were used to seeing :)  
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	4. Desire, and Power, and Control

**Spero**

**Chapter 4: Desire, and Power, and Control**

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Time warp:_ Amongst the crumpled balls of my Transfiguration paper is the notice I put up. The one about the newspaper._

**Who would want to write a newspaper with bloody barmy Loony Lovegood!? Don't kid yourself.**

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Textbooks and quills splayed across the tables, and the cushy chairs were occupied in the Slytherin common room. Which leaves me here with Hermione. Sitting at the window of the Room of Requirement, I sigh; this is where I need to be right now. To think. She lies on the couch dozing as I count my losses. Less important on my scale of losses: a Quidditch match – to Gryffindor lost. A little higher up on the scale: Father, jailed in Azkaban; Mother, mad as a hatter; my family's reputation, left in a shambles. 

But those are honestly the least of my problems.

Cradling your head in your hands and wallowing in self pity may not be very dignified, but that's all I can do right now. Merlin, what did I do to deserve this? Glancing at Hermione, all I can think is, _Why is she here?_ I'm honestly not the one to come running to crying. I would cop it off to her being a woman, but it's just that she's Granger. Hermione Granger. I must be going mad. I feel hopeless, I feel angry, but most of all confused. How did this happen?

It was the day after Hermione Granger had found me, after I'd stunned Potter. I still stick by my story, he deserved – no deserves it. He's lucky he didn't meet a worse fate.

It was the day after the opening feast. I was staring at her. Again. I can remember thinking, _bloody hell, what is wrong with me?_ I hated staring at her. I thought, _Filthy little mudblood. Stuck up little know-it-all. Arrogant little Gryffindor._

I'd hated her for as long as I could remember. When we were first acquainted in first year, I hated her immediately. It was easy to, obvious really because she was arrogant and far too intelligent. Everything about her made me insecure. What was worse is she's a Mudbl – Muggleborn. Father expected the best from me, and I couldn't deliver it. Generations of good breeding couldn't beat a Muggleborn.

It infuriated the hell out of me. Logically, this made no sense to me. Everything my father had said. Every belief he had instilled in me. Gone. Slapped quite literally out of me, by her of all people. I suppose that's when things started to change. When she decided to stand up to me. It's the only thing that makes sense. I know that if the attack at the Quidditch World Cup had taken place a year prior I wouldn't have even thought to warn her that the Death Eaters were coming our way. I've been over and over it in my head. There is nothing else that can explain it. She's not drop-dead gorgeous, she doesn't hike her skirt up for attention, she doesn't even try to tame that unruly hair of hers. So I'm still left at odds.

I'd ended up stuck with her on the stairs. It was like she was everywhere. First on the train, then in the Great Hall the day before. Now here, on this staircase as I tried to get to Charms. 'Watch the staircases' they tell you in first year, 'they tend to move'.

"Yep, I have no idea what compelled me to do that," she told me after I'd complained of her rude manner in greeting me – of course in mock hurt. Sarcasm embodied the girl. It seemed to be the very soul of her when it came to me. I don't think I've ever heard another tone from her.

"Is it because you're five?" I suggested.

"I'm a little punchy; I haven't been sleeping," she admitted.

"Thoughts of me? Hey, I get it." I shrugged. "Sometimes I'm up all night just thinking about myself."

Hermione – Granger I had still been calling her then – had hmphed and turned her back on me. I took a step up and sidled up against her, glancing at her; she stared straight ahead, not acknowledging my presence. She had presence, a distinct style: not a tall girl, plain really, but the way she was, moving as she did, she looked to be so much more.

"As a rule, I like to start every schoolday with an attractive brunette waiting for me on the staircase," I mentioned, knowing this would get her.

Surprisingly she replied with, "Me too."

"I'm not a brunette," I remind her.

"Or attractive," she scoffs as the staircase settles into place. It makes this noise as if gears are clicking then locking together.

She walked off those stairs without so much as a 'are you coming?' I followed anyway. Being on the fifth floor rather than on the third, which I had originally been going for, meant I was stuck with her for two more floors. Two more staircases.

"Go away," she told me as she stomped down the steps to the fourth floor. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Why yes, I do, though I'd like to point out that we're both headed to Charms."

As Hermione approached the staircase to third floor it made the familiar noises of unlocking and gears clicking. The staircase is going to move. I thought we were cursed at the time. Some higher being was playing a trick on me and wanted to see the two of us explode. She let out a groan of frustration. "This is all your fault!" Turning sharply, she walked right into me and I caught her before she fell.

I felt the wind get knocked out of me as for some odd reason Hermione Granger has never been introduced to a book bag. Annoyed with her and the stairs, I retorted, "Oh right, because everything is always my fault!" I can't help that the stairs keep changing. I can't help that we have to go back up to the fifth floor to catch the staircase before it shifts back to it's proper place, the third floor. I'm not jaded, I know I can't control everything.

"I'm glad we agree," she said in that way that just makes me want to strangle her.

"Merlin, you are so arrogant." I could feel my blood pressure rising.

"Me? Why don't you take a look in a mirror?"

"Why don't you?"

"Real original, Malfoy." Okay, so that wasn't the best comeback I'd ever though of. All I could do is was roll my eyes in aggravation.  
"What? Cat got your tongue?"

"Sometimes I wish you'd just shut up, Granger." She was starting to get on my nerves. I was compelled to do anything at this that moment to shut her up.

"Sometimes I wish _you _would," she shot back.

"Real original, Granger." I used my best mocking tone.

She frowned at me. "You _can_ let go of me now."

Glancing down, I realised I'd still been holding on to her from before, tightening my grip as my annoyance went up. Repulsed and a little scared, I let go of her, shoving her backward. A little more force than I had intended to use made me turn quickly and head toward the fifth floor. "Well, Granger, are you coming?" I call over my shoulder. I heard her sigh, and the footsteps signaling her presence.

Impatiently I wait at the fifth floor stairs. I daresay I snapped at her, "Hurry up, Granger, the staircase is about to change again, you don't want to miss it."

I'm not sure whether she's untrusting, or she just always has to contradict me. "It's been what? Five minutes? The staircase is not going to change so soon."

I gave her my word, since she didn't believe me, "I swear it is, on the Malfoy name."

To this she snorted. "I trust your family about as far as I could throw you."

"Fine then, on your name."

"On my name?"

"Yes, yours, you're a constant really, quite predictable."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know, predictable is all. I know you're going to get 100 percent on our next exam. I know you're going to cry if I call you a 'know-it-all'. I know you're going to spend your evening in the library. Predictable, that's all."

"That's what you think of me?" Her free hand waved around signaling her outrage. Meanwhile, the staircase is starting to make that familiar noise. It's unlocking and gears are shifting. "You think I'm so predictable that you know I'd be in the library?"

"Granger, the staircase," I said through gritted teeth.

"Well you know what? I am most certainly not a 'know-it-all' I am not going to cry because you think so," she said with a sniff.

Seriously fed up, I pull her forward as the stairs start to move away from the landing.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

"I told you."

"You didn't need to tug on me!"

"You weren't listening."

"Who says I should listen to you?"

"You never listen!"

To that she launched into one of her speeches. It's something she seems to be quite good at doing. I've seen her give them to first years, Weasley, Potter. I think if she could she'd lecture a chair. Which she might have, who knows? A part of me had something really witty to say, which would no doubt have sent her into another dizzying rant. I studied her, trying to pinpoint just how many freckles dotted the bridge of her nose. It's daring, how she looks me straight in the eye and tells me off. I could kiss her.

It was a kiss that had nothing whatsoever to do with love. Only desire, and power, and control.

"You look like a bloody fish with your mouth agape like that," is all I could think of to say.

Her neck was stiff, shoulders and upper back in a shape like a 'T', all glimmering of aggravation as she stormed off. I can remember thinking, "_shit, what the hell was that?"_ as her steps echoed. In Charms I was staring. Again.

It was compelling to say something when I saw her in the library. Something snide, something sarcastic, something witty. So when I saw her sitting there at a table surrounded by books, I joined her. Sitting down across from her, I simply stated, "predictable."

"What are you doing?" she hissed at me.

"Studying." I indicated my parchment, quill, and textbook.

"No, you're not," she frowned.

"What, you think my grades just appear out of thin air?"

She said nothing to this, just glared. So, I sat in silence with Hermione Granger studying. She was right, and wrong, and I wasn't studying my assignment, I was studying her. Why had I kissed her? Why had I been so forward? Why had I done it at all?

She got up and left the table. I sat and wondered for a moment where she was going. All her things are were still here. She must have been going for a book. I decided I might as well follow her. I found her in an empty row of books.

Standing behind her as she reaches for a book, I wanted to laugh because she couldn't quite get at it. Her fingertips brushed the bottom of the shelf. From her frizzy mess of hair I smelled lavender – I'm so close. Frustrated, she gave up and started to reach for her wand. I took the book from the shelf.

"There's that book I've been looking for." I stood back and looked at it intently, turning it this way and that.

"No you weren't! Give it here, Malfoy," she protested.

Madame Pince appeared at the end for of the row. With a look of contempt, she whispered, "shhh!"

"Sorry," I apologised. Under my breath, I mumbled, "Ugly old bag."

A snort comes from Hermione.

"What a lady-like noise."

"How gentlemanly of you to get me my book." She snatches it away from me. "Now, will you move?" I intentionally blocked her way. "Stop acting as if you're 8."

"Like I'm 8?"

"Yes, when you're 16 I'm afraid torturing a girl you fancy doesn't work, quite frankly I don't really think that ever worked."

"Don't flatter yourself," I tell her. Did she really just imply that?

"Well, then, what the hell was that on the staircase?"

"Language, Granger." A small smirk appeared on my face. How comical.

"Look, I don't find my conclusion plausible either, but who in their right mind kisses someone and doesn't fancy them? Especially like that."

I step aside. 'Especially like that' she said.

_Nothing_ – I tell you, nothing in my life was as personal as that kiss. Not the love from my mother when father yelled. Not my father's pride I enjoyed basking in when I was younger. Not the first time I kissed Pansy or any other girl for that matter.

Hermione didn't move. Which was surprising to me; I thought she would have. "Well?" she asked impatiently. With a sigh she said, "Malfoy, I don't have the time for this."

"Then leave," I tell told her.

"I'd think I have the right to an explanation."

I shrugged. "It never happened."

She looked confused. It's a little unnerving as she studied my face. Looking me straight in the eyes, she made me shift my weight. "Oh, it _did_ happen. It was strange and very out of character, but it happened. I've no idea what to make of it."

"Never been kissed before, Granger?"

"I have," she says defensively.

"By Weaseled? Because that's not a kiss." I added offhandedly. "Oh Merlin, I think I'll be sick."

"No!"

"Oh right, Krum then?"

At this she blushed. "_He_ is not the subject Malfoy. _We_ are." It was my turn to snort. "What is so funny?"

"Did you just hear your self? _We_? As if you ever had a chance with me." I shake shook my head.

"Well then why'd you kiss me? Let me remind you, I did not kiss you, _you_ kissed me!" She jabbed an angry finger in my chest.

I took hold of her wrist. "You kissed me back, and I reckon you fancied it." She turned a deeper shade of scarlet and I can't believe she did. "What? You did?"

"No," she said quickly, "I just … I thought you … never mind."

"You really think I fancy you, Granger? Thought you'd know better with your good grades and all. Aren't you supposed to be smart?"

"I …" She made the fish face again. Her mouth closed then opened and her eyes were wide.

"You?"

"You didn't feel it," she says, more of a statement then a question.

"It?"

"Yes, _it_."

"What is _it_?"

"That feeling they talk about."

"They?"

"Yes, _they_, the ominous they that know all."

"Oh, right, _them,_" I said, and rolled my eyes.

"I should have never said anything." She seemed very angry and embarrassed as she stormed off.

I stayed there in her dust. I know full well who _they_ were and what _it_ was. 'It' is what 'they' said you felt when you were meant to be with someone. Pansy had gushed about it once; of course at that time I hadn't known who "they" were or what "it" was. I finally found out on the stairs. Not that I was meant to be with Hermione Granger. Not that I even wanted that.

She was back at the table. "I know what you meant," I say said. She ignored me, pretending to be enthralled with her book and her notes. "About feeling it," I try tried again.

This seemed to spark a little interest. "What?"

"It," I repeated myself, which is something I don't do often.

"It?"

"Yes, and I'm not saying it again."

She calmly closed her book and gathered her notes into a pile. Looking up at me, she asked, "So what are you saying?"

"I don't …" I'm speechless. "I don't know."

'I don't know' seems to be my answer for everything these days. I don't know what to do. I don't know why she's here. I don't know why she's been crying. I just don't know.

"Draco?" Hermione's soft voice drifts over from the couch. I look toward her. There are twenty-two freckles that dance across her face. I counted one night. I get up and join her on the couch where she has made room for me.

"Ah, am I still keeping you up at night? You look like Snape," I jest. Settling in on the couch beside her, I put an arm around her small frame, drawing her closer to me.

She looks at me through sleepy eyes and yawns. "You … are such … a catch. How have I been able to keep away?"

I grin at her. She has this way about her that she never shies away. Her eyes always meet mine. Her eyes that are brown and warm. Her mouth that smiles almost without her knowing it. The look of sympathy, of wanting to hear, but I will never tell.

I kiss Hermione Granger not out of love, but because I can.

She's so – maybe the word is 'vulnerable'? Yes, that is the word.**  
**

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**


	5. Case Closed

**Spero**

**Ch 5: Case Closed**

* * *

I don't remember what happened last time: _  
_

_I grin at her. She has this way about her that she never shies away. Her eyes always meet mine. Her eyes that are brown and warm. Her mouth that smiles almost without her knowing it. The look of sympathy, of wanting to hear, but I will never tell._

_I kiss Hermione Granger not out of love, but because I can._

_She's so – maybe the word is 'vulnerable'? Yes, that is the word._

* * *

"You, you … it's not fair!" she cries out, "I try to tell you and I try so hard, but you –" Hermione is red-faced with tears threatening to spill. "Ohhh," she says, frustrated. Next thing I know she's running off in a hurry and Harry is scolding me like he's Mum or Ginny. 

"Great, Ron, look what you've gone and done now," Harry says with a heavy sigh as he shakes his head.

"Oh, what _I've_ gone and done? _Always_ my fault when she runs off and cries, isn't it?" I spit back. "Bloody hell! I don't even know what I did! I didn't do anything wrong, Harry."

"Maybe you should listen to her sometimes?" Harry offers.

"No, I'm not going to listen to her when I didn't do anything. What did I do, Harry? Do you know? I don't," I tell him, I am so fed up with her it's not even funny. Harry gives me _that_ look; he wants me to calm down. He reaches out to touch my arm. "This is rubbish!" I say in frustration and shrug him off. I open my mouth, but there is nothing left to say, except things I might regret in the future.

As I walk away Harry calls, "Ron, don't be like that." I wave him off; I'm through with her crying. It makes me so tired, draining me of all my energy. I wish I could fix it. I just don't know how because I don't know what's wrong. It always seems to be my fault though. I'd better not test the waters; I'd probably rock the boat too much and send us overboard. She'll come 'round eventually. She can talk to me when she's ready. Hermione is a big girl. She'll be fine.

I think about it, because I can never stop thinking about her, as I walk into the common room. It's rowdy, people are sitting everywhere. She's my best friend, but she's being selfish. It's always about her, and when it's about me, it's what I'm doing wrong. It's not nagging because she loves me, like Mum does. No, it's because she's frigid.

"Won – Won ," Lavender calls. I give her a weak smile. "Is everything alright?" she asks me with concern. Now that is what I'm talking about. No constant nagging. Why can't Hermione be more like her?

"Just fine," I give her a smile in earnest.

"Is Hermione alright?" Lavender asks. Concern can be heard in her voice.

Is everything about _her_? I sigh heavily and scratch the itch on my neck. "Don't worry about it," I tell her. "Really, she'll be fine," I say, when she gives me a questioning look. This seems to be a good enough answer, as she gives me a kiss on the cheek and starts to talk about other things.

In the morning I have faint memories of Lavender and her soft kisses running through my head. I roll over, wanting to stay asleep for longer. "Ron," I hear faintly, then louder, "Oi! Ron!"

"Go away." I frown and pull the sheets over my head.

"Fine." I start to recognize the voice as Harry's. "I'll be around. Probably in the library finishing some homework. Don't forget, Snape's paper is due tomorrow."

"Whatever," I mumble, before slipping back into the Land of Nod.

Around noon I wake up, and this time I get out of bed. I look around, scratch the itch on my leg, and note that all the boys have left. I wander around lazily for the first 5 minutes. Then I'm off about my business; first to the loo, then back to change into a sweater and some pants. It's colder than I thought outside my dorm room. I head downstairs. With a lethargic yawn I scan the common room.

"Catching flies?" Seamus jokes. He sits at a table playing a less than rousing game of solitaire.

"Funny," I comment and walk over to join him. He winks, taking me seriously. "Seen Harry?" I ask, sitting down across from him.

"Left hours ago, mate," Seamus answers.

"Do you know where?" I ask. His only reply is a shrug. Okay, I sit in silence with him. The only sounds are the tick tock from the clock, and the sound of Seamus flipping cards. I tap my finger on the arm of the chair. Shifting in my seat – I don't know why I ask, but I do anyway, out of habit I suppose – "What about Hermione?"

"Left this morning," he responds. He doesn't look at me, just stares at the cards that sit in front of him. I have the urge to reach over and move the five of clubs onto the six of diamonds he has lying there in plain sight. Instead of waiting around for Seamus to figure it out I decide to leave and find better ways to amuse myself.

As I'm was walking out Seamus decides to speak again. "Had that look on her face."

"What?" I ask, a little confused.

"You know." Seamus waved waves an arm about as if he's was trying to find the word he meant means to use, but never taking takes his eyes off the cards. "That look she gets when she's off to do something." She never seems to have the time to just sit and chat anymore. That look, all the work she does, I suppose it's becoming of her.

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, Seamus." Hermione _always_ looks like that. It's her natural face. Like how Malfoy always looks like a dirty little rat, or how Snape always looks like a wet dog. Or Luna; she always looks, well, loony.

I look for Harry in the Great Hall then out on the pitch. He's not there. I can't think of anywhere else he would be. Maybe the courtyard? Perhaps. The only people I find in there are Ginny and Dean. I eye the two and Ginny catches me. She shoots me a death-glare; she looks like she wants me to drop dead.

"Hey!" Dean waves me over. I want to drop dead now.

"Hey." I feign goodwill toward him and give him a nod. "Hi, Gin." I ignore the look she gives me as she crosses her arms and lets out a sigh. She gives me a curt nod and looks away. Dean launches into a conversation I don't want to be having. Not right now, not with him.

The conversation doesn't turn out half bad as he starts to talk about Quidditch. An animated conversation about Quidditch takes place, and even Ginny was participating. "No!" I find myself saying heatedly. "The Chudley Cannons are so much better than that bloody bunch of gits that you call a team."

Dean looks outraged. "How can you say that?" he roars.

"Clearly they are the better team," I hear a cool voice say. I turn to see Lavender smiling. Damn women with their soft hair; and their cute smiles; and their laughs, light as a bell; and pretty little hands that fit in yours perfectly; and their noses, nicely centered and 'cute as a button' as Mum would say.

"Clearly he is smitten," I catch Ginny faintly whisper to Dean. I shoot her a glare.

"So who's your favorite player?" Dean asks quickly to diffuse the tension.

"Um …" Lavender fixes her face in that cute way she does. One hand rests on her hip as a polished nail on the other taps on her chin. Her head is cocked to the side, looking skyward, as she bites her bottom lip. She's thinking. Not like Hermione does, but in that attractive girly way that makes you wonder what they're thinking about. Are they thinking about you?

"Tell him. Be honest," Ginny says.

"It's Joey Jenkins, isn't it?" Dean asks with a chuckle.

"He's so pretty," she sighs as she sits down. I laugh a little; she leans in and whispers, "but I like you better." I can feel the blush start to rise as a wide grin appears on my face.

I hear Ginny mumble "Oh brother." To which Dean hushes her. She tugs on his arm. "Let's go."

I'm a little nervous being left alone with Lavender. I think I'll feel it out. See how it goes with her. On the other hand, the more time I spend with her the better, I suppose.

"So," I'm not sure what to say. I look up at the sky quickly. "The weather. It's been nice."

She gives me a quizzical look. "Yeah," she laughs as drops of water start to rain down on us, "real nice." I give a weak laugh: if you can't laugh at yourself, as they say.

I put an arm around her. "Come on, let's get out of the rain."

After drying off the two of us sit on the couch in front of the fire. We've been talking for hours about – well everything! She really gets me. I follow her gaze out to the pouring rain. "Lovely weather," she smiles at me.

"Huh?" It's not lovely weather at all. It's dreadful out there. Dark and cloudy, and worst of all it's wet.

Lavender laughs, and rests her head on my shoulder. "Trust me, Ron, it's _very_ _lovely_ weather, at least from where I'm sitting."

Oh. She's right. Lovely weather, I can totally appreciate it now.

"Ronald?" I hear a familiar voice say. I turn to see Hermione clutching one of her textbooks. "Tomorrow, could you go patrolling?"

"Uhm," I'm about make a fuss, but I think I best not.

"I know it's not your night, but Professor Flitwick ambushed me in the Great Hall this morning – "

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," I wave her off. "I'll do it."

With a smile for thanks she leaves, and I'm left with Lavender who a moment ago was nestled in my embrace. Now I feel as though she's giving me the cold shoulder.

"You didn't ask how high." She's giving me the cold shoulder.

"What?" Girls are so strange.

"Didn't Little Miss Perfect say 'jump?' just then?"

"It's not even like that!" I can't believe she just said that.

"What is it like?" She grills me for information.

"We're friends, Lavender, best friends. If she needs me, I'm gonna come through, just like she would for me," I explain. I'm furious with her right now, but I know it, I'm not that thick.

"Right," she says skeptically. "Generally the girl who you kiss is the one you do favours for. I may have to have a chat with The Golden Girl."

"I wouldn't do that. She's not somebody you want to piss off."

Lavender looks me dead in the eye. "Neither am I." With that she leaves the couch in favour of Parvati who just entered the common room. Bloody hell, what was that? It's almost overwhelming, but on the other hand, it's _very_ attractive.

"So, how's that going?" I turn to see Harry with a grin on his face. He takes a seat beside me.

"Oh, I'm still investigating," I inform him. He laughs and I join in as well. "Haven't seen you all day." I inquire about where he's been.

"I was just finishing up some assignments," he tells me. "I was in the library."

"Oh." I never thought to look there. Quite possibly the last place I'd go if I'd even thought of it. It's not that it's more likely that Harry would be fighting He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named than be in the library, I just never would have guessed there. The Great Hall, the Quidditch pitch, Hagrid's hut. Maybe even the infirmary. Just not the library.

"Did you get around to your paper for Snape?" Harry asks. I vaguely remember him mentioning that, maybe yesterday. Sometime earlier.

I shake my head. "I'll do it after dinner."

"I'm starving," Harry comments, rubbing his abdomen.

I laugh, hearing it growl. "You sound like you could eat a hippogriff."

He shoves me: "come on," and gets up. We leave the common room to have dinner in the Great Hall. Hermione is already there. Yet again she is multitasking, trying to balance chatting with Ginny and reading a book. Some days I don't believe she's human. Some sort of crazy Muggle machine maybe.

"Hey," I say, but am left unacknowledged as I sit down. Ginny is still upset with me; Hermione probably is too, but she's too busy to even care for that. Harry sits on my other side. He and Dean are talking about some sort of Muggle sport from what I gather. It sounds interesting. Football, I think it's called. Apparently it's the Muggle world's answer to Quidditch. I'd probably be interested in that if I were a Muggle.

Seamus comes to the table with Lavender and Parvati. "Hi Ron," Lavender greets me, with a smile.

"'Lo." I have a hard time because of the food in my mouth. I nearly choke, and with a slap on the back from Hermione I recover. I let out a hoarse cough and thank her with a nod. Laughing a little, more out of feeling like a fool than thinking the situation was funny, I ask Lavender how she is.

I've found that women will listen to you, _if_ they're interested, but what they really like to do is talk about themselves. I nod and try to pay attention, especially when Parvati takes over the conversation.

I start to lose my sanity – my will to live – my mind – my concentration when Parvati starts talking about the clothes she hopes to get the next time she's in Hogsmeade. I feel a foot brush against mine. A little uneasy, I shift in my seat and give Harry a look. "Harry," I hiss. He doesn't notice; he's shoveling food in his mouth and talking to Dean still. The foot moves slowly up and down the outside of my leg. I give Lavender a quick smile and try to act like everything is normal. "Stop it, Harry," I tell him.

"What?" He looks perplexed. "I'm not doing anything."

My gaze moves to Lavender, and I feel a smile creep across my face. Knowing it's not Harry I can now appreciate this moment. It's not often that Lavender Brown is shy, but she doesn't meet my eyes. Instead she looks at my shyly from behind her bangs. I want to reach across the table and brush the hair from her eyes so I can see more clearly.

Merlin, what's gotten into me?

"Ron?" I hear the distant call of Ginny. "Ron!"

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

"Well if you're going to be like that, then nothing," she remarks as she gets up.

"No, Ginny, come on now." I turn to give her my full attention. Pausing, she tells me something about Mum wanting me to know Bill will be gone off to South America. Which sounds fabulous, but it wasn't as nearly as interesting as Lavender. When I turn back she's talking to Parvati.

I look around. Harry is still talking with Dean. Seamus is, I think, actually taking part in the conversation with the girls. I sometimes wonder about him. Hermione sits to my left, still vigilantly reading her book. "Still going at it?" I joke, and nudge her.

"Ronald, I'm trying to read ahead in the next chapter for potions," she says, perturbed.

"You know no matter how smart you are Snape won't like you any better, I don't know why you try," I comment. It's a rhetorical type of statement. Kind of pointing out the obvious even though I hate when she does that.

"Well, let's say I'm reading for myself. I just want to do well is all. Better myself and all that. I think you should have a go at that. Did you finish your essay for Snape?"

"No, I'm going to do it after dinner."

"Ron, you know you should have finished it earlier today." She looks at me with a disappointed frown forming on her face.

"I know, and I'm going to get it done," I tell her, putting a forkful of mashed potatoes in my mouth.

"Ronald," she starts to scold.

I'm just so tried of it. I'm so tired of her.

"Hermione, I'm going to do it, okay? Don't lecture me about it." I'm a little cross now.

"Well, Ron Weasley what would you do without me to lecture you? You'd probably sit around all day and not do a darn thing!" And just like that she slams her book shut and ends the conversation.

Putting Hermione to the back of my mind I turn my attention back to Lavender. I ask her to go on for a walk. Thoughts of Hermione and how mad she gets me quickly flow out of my head. I like Lavender, I like how she pays attention to me, I like how she _wants_ to be with me.

So, when Harry asks me later that night, if I'm "Still investigating?" I can tell him with a grin on my face:

"No, mate. Case closed."

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	6. Keeping Up Appearances

**Spero**

**Chapter 6: Keeping Up Appearances **

* * *

_If you've got a terrible memory: _

So, when Harry asks me later that night, if I'm "Still investigating?" I can tell him with a grin on my face:

"No, mate. Case closed.**  
**

* * *

"You had Ginny wake me up for _this_?" I stand in the common room at a little past midnight in my pajamas with a desperate Ron.

"Come on, Hermione," he asks.

"No, absolutely not." I fold my arms across my chest and shake my head.

"Please," he pleads.

"Ronald, you have to grow up sometime. You have to be responsible. Not doing your homework because you're following the wrong head is definitely not responsible." He groans. If he is going to act like an eight year old, why bother at all? I shake my head and sigh. I head for the stairs. "I'm saying this for your own good, Ron." I pause at the first step. Turning to him I firmly tell him once again, "No."

"No," he mimics me in a less than admiring way. God, he makes me so upset sometimes. All I can do is to not say something I may regret later is glare and stick my tongue out at him. _Real mature of you_, my conscience tells me. I tell it to _shut up and shove off_. Grumbling, I turn my back on him and make my way back upstairs.

He should know better. I yawn as I get to the door to my dormitory. Opening the door I try to creep in quietly, and shut it without making a noise. I bite my lip and tense up as the door creaks closed.

"Hermione?" Looking through the dark I can make the figure out: it's _her_.

I hate this feeling, but I can't put a finger on what exactly it is. I just feel terrible when I'm like this. That's all I know.

"Go back to sleep, Lavender." I make my way to my bed. Why _her_? I wonder. He's really just that shallow. Sighing, I crawl back into bed. He'll learn one day. He can't just stay out with _her_ all night and expect me to bail him out. I'm not always going to be here.

_You're jealous_. I'm not jealous. I'm just teaching him a lesson. That's all. He needs to be taught a lesson. He doesn't appreciate me at all. He'll see. I won't – I yawn – always be there to look after him. He'll miss me then.

* * *

I wake up feeling like I need to cry. I've never been able to remember my dreams. Only the last few seconds …_ "Think of me once in a while, please promise me you'll try."_

Try as I might, it just does not work. At times I think I don't even dream. After a night of extensive reading, caused by a less than psychotic but more than strange episode of thinking that I'm not normal, I discovered that all people dream; in fact all living things dream. I am just one of many who just don't recall them very well.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and I'm met with the cold wooden floor. For a moment I contemplate going back to sleep. It never helps that in the fall daylight never comes until about eight in the morning. As if it's hiding.

While I brush my teeth I run over my list of things to do today. First a bit of light reading. Go to the library before breakfast. Avoid speaking with Professor Flitwick as much as possible. Research a new hobby to take up – knitting maybe? Go over my presentation for Arithmancy before the next day, maybe do some revisions. My thoughts are interrupted by someone crankily slamming the door open. Startled I yelp and jump a little. I turn to look and let out a sigh of relief when I see it's only Lavender.

"Hi," I say, because I'm polite, not because I want to start a conversation, or really see her for that matter.

"Foam," she says. I give her a puzzled look. "Around your mouth." She points at her face and mimes. "Foam."

"Oh!" I realize what she means. The foam from my toothpaste. Rinsing with water I feel a little embarrassed. Having perfectly gorgeous Lavender Brown point out a flaw is just damaging to one's self-esteem. It's almost worse than having Fleur Delacour point them out. I can still hear her. "Oh, 'ermione, why do you not let me 'elp you with your 'air?" I notice Lavender is still there; goodness, she's gorgeous even when she wakes up. "Uhm …" There is a giant Hippogriff in the room – this is one of the most awkward situations I've been in.

She looks around, and I think she's seen the Hippogriff as well. "You're up early," is her stab at a conversation. At least she tried.

Gathering my things I explain, "I'm always up around now."

"Really?"

"Yup." I nod.

"Wow," she says, with about as much enthusiasm as you'd expect someone to muster at six in the morning.

"I'll, uhm, I'll see you later, then," I awkwardly smile and make my way out.

After I return from the library I sit in the common room with a good book. I'm reading about the theories of time and how it applies to people's lives. There are so many different theories. At around seven Harry came downstairs and sat beside me. He's still sitting with me now a half hour later trying to finish off an essay for charms.

Ginny and her friends make their way down. They all seem dead, or cranky. Ginny is both. "What's the matter with them?" Harry inquires.

"Ginny," I call out.

"Not so loud, Hermione" she whines at a low whisper with her hands covering her ears. She looks completely frazzled.

A little confused, I exchange looks with Harry, who shrugs. Ginny makes her way over; she looks like she hasn't slept at all. Plopping down on the couch next to Harry, she groans. "Everything okay?" I whisper, trying to be accommodating.

She shakes her head furiously. "There's this bird –" she points upstairs – "it's outside our window; it's making an awful racket."

"I'm sure it will go away," I tell her.

"That's what I thought when I woke up at five this morning, but no, it's been going on for the past two hours," she says, frustrated.

"Maybe it will have stopped by the time you get back from classes?" Harry suggests.

She shrugs. "I guess."

"Hungry?" I offer, absolutely famished.

* * *

On my way to the library to spend a little more time on my presentation, I go over it. My eyes dart across my cue cards as I read through them. Hopefully I won't need them tomorrow during the presentation. 

"You seem stressed," Draco says, falling into step with me. I know how strange this must look. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy walking in the hall together – not at each other's throats. If Ron were to come down the hall now his eyes would probably pop right out of his skull. Aware of prying eyes, I don't smile at him; instead I stare at my cue cards.

Pretending to be reading them over, I answer, "You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I can empathize," he says, "don't think me to be too cruel." He says this with a small laugh and a quiet voice. It makes me suspicious and I start to worry that there might something wrong. Walking a few more steps I'm interrupted by Draco guiding me towards an empty classroom. "In here."

"Is everything alright?" I ask, a tad confused.

"Oh, sure, all candy canes and lollypops, Hermione," he says, closing the door, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Which I know is a lie. I've never thought much on Draco Malfoy, but now that I'm with him – that still sounds strange – I've noticed there's something odd going on. Something is on his mind, and he hasn't mentioned it. I try to drop hints that it's okay; he can tell me, but nothing. Not a word.

As I drop my things on the table with a loud 'thunk', he laughs and tells me, "I know what to get you for Christmas."

Turning to him, I ask, "What?"

"Can't tell," he says, waggling his finger at me, "or else it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?"

"No, I suppose it wouldn't," I laugh. With a little hop I sit on the table and pick up my cue cards again. Chewing on my lip I study the cards with all my concentration. Somewhere in my brain I register Draco's presence in front of me. He sighs heavily. Without looking up, I ask, "What?" and move onto the next card.

"Nothing," he tells me.

"No, really." I flip another card. "What are we doing in an empty classroom anyhow?"

"Apparently nothing." To my surprise, he sounds sort of – what's the word? 'Disappointed'? He's next to me leaning on the desk. His hand rests on top of my leg and his thumb goes back and forth across the fabric of my skirt.

I take myself away from my presentation. He's looking down mesmerized by his hand, or quite possibly my leg – I'm not stupid. I put my hand on his, which draws his attention back to me. Tilting my head to the side, I smile sweetly. "Okay, really, now you have to explain, what are we doing here?"

"At first I was thinking I could help you with your stress."

"Oh," I say excited, "You'll help me practice my presentation?" Harry had given up on me at breakfast, Ginny was too cranky and had strangely disappeared, and, well, Ron was too busy with 'LavLav'.

Draco frowns and shakes his head.

"What?" I ask him, for probably the tenth time.

"Stop thinking," he whispers. I blink, ready to give a retort but stopped mid-breath. He silenced me with a powerful kiss. The shock of it hit me all the way to the pit of my stomach. I break the kiss, whispering, "Is this what you were thinking of doing?" before kissing him again, a little softer than before.

"You truly _are_ a smart witch," he breathes as I pull him closer. He takes this opportunity and snakes his arms around my waist. He moves a hand from my waist down along the curve of my body to my leg.

"Draco." I bat his hand away as he inches up my leg.

"You're no fun at all," he whines.

"Help me with my nerves some more," I coo, my judgement clouded and my senses hazy.

"Door," he replies in a most unceremonious way. I thought it had been going rather well, except for that bit where he tried to reach up my skirt. Actually, I daresay I sort of liked it.

"What?" I ask after being put off so abruptly.

"Door," he tells me again, taking up my book and opening it to a random page. With a simple flick of his wrist my cue cards were lying on the floor. He did this all without batting an eyelid.

I gape at him. "What – what did you do that for?"

"You're so clumsy, Granger," he said says with the tone he's used so many times before when insulting or belittling me. I nearly lose it. I want to throw something at him or hex him a thousand times over.

But when I hear a confused, "Draco?" come from the mouth of one Blaise Zabini, I understand. "What's going on?"

"Granger dropped a few things," he drawled, waving his hand at me. "You know how girls can be in the presence of handsome men. Don't pay any attention to her."

Pursing my lips, I kneel down to pick up my cards. Oh, how quickly this has gone bad. The two talk. Blaise made makes vulgar jokes and says things that made make my blood boil. Anyone else and I could say sure, they're just of the male persuasion. Surprisingly, I'd actually expected much more from Blaise. He's always seemed to be above all the rude and hurtful remarks. Turns out I just don't know him.

Standing up, I smooth my skirt down; when I looked look up I see Draco looking at the hem of my skirt with a sort of glint in his eye. Clearing my throat, I grab his attention and incline my head toward the Arithmancy text in his hands. He stands up and coughs awkwardly.

Blaise is watching us. Under his gaze, no shows of affection can be made. Not even being civil will do. "My book, Malfoy." I hold out my hand.

He approaches me. "Here." And shoves the book at me. It hits me hard, and as I take it he pulls it back, and in a hushed voice asks, "Library later?"

Looking past him at Blaise, I lowered lower my head: I realise at this moment what a terrible secret we are keeping. "Sure." I nod, feeling strangely forlorn. All I can hear is Draco laughing at Blaise's jokes. He didn't bat an eyelid when Blaise said 'Mudblood'. I don't – can't – look at Blaise; instead I walk past him as quickly as I can.

* * *

In the library, I sit down at a table wondering if I really know what I've got myself into. I used to think that life was simple. Go to school, do the work, indulge in the good times with friends here and there. It was always so simple like that. Then there was Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron and Voldemort. My biggest challenge though, is Draco Malfoy. Whatever could have compelled him, or myself for that matter, to embark on this adventure? 

"_You don't know me at all," I tell him, "You can't like me when you know nothing about me." _

"Ms. Granger?" Madam Pince approaches me.

"Yes, Madam Pince?" I halfheartedly give her my attention.

"Yes I do," he says.

I look at him skeptically. "Like what?"

"I need some help in the library," she explains, "and since you always seem to be around I thought you could help out."

"Oh, sure," I say wanting to get back to my thoughts.

"_You're Potter and Weasel's best friend."_

"_Really? No," I say sarcastically._

"_You tap your quill when you're thinking." He looks at the quill in my hand. "It's really quite annoying." Immediately I stop._

"Well, then." She hands me a sheet of parchment. "I'd appreciate it if you could be here during the week from after dinner and onward. Here are your duties. You may do your homework if nobody needs help. Right now I'd commend you if you put away all these books."

"Mhm." I nodded nod.

"_Call it a good feeling," Draco continues. _

"_I – but it's you, and me," is all I can really say._

"Ms. Granger." Madam Pince's voice cuts through my thoughts. "The books?"

"Oh, right! Yes, the books." I give her my best smile and look past her. A trolley full of books, which look to be in no particular order, sit there. Oh Merlin, what did I just sign myself up for?

Looking at the trolley of books with the parchment in my hand I'm having a moment where I don't know what I've just done. I have to stop and analyze. Look at all my options. I could do this and get it over with. I could not do this. I could tell Madame Pince I just don't have enough time and get out of everything. Next time I will listen, and not get caught up in thinking about Draco.

"_Yes, I realize that." Draco nods his head._

"_It's – preposterous! I mean, what would people say?" I say._

_He seems to be so much calmer than me that, it infuriates me. "Terrible things," he says, "we would be _ostracized._ My Mother would die of shock._ _I could be killed by my father for disgracing the family name." _

_A rather dramatic chap, he is._

First I organize the trolley. I go by author. Not all the books fit on the trolley to begin with, making it even harder of a task to deal with. Halfway through, or what I assume to be halfway, I feel as though I've trekked up the Andes and back. My arms burn and my back aches.

"Ms. Granger?" Madame Pince is hovering over my shoulder. "A spell to organize the books might help."

I groan, why didn't I think of that? "Right, thank you," I say. Getting my wand, I mutter a quick spell to organize them alphabetically. With that, I push the cart in the direction of the Magical Creatures aisle.

"_Why would you, in your right mind, risk all that?" I ask._

_He shrugs. "You don't think you're worth all that?"_

"_Do you think I am?"_

There is a large gap of books missing when I get there. "What on Earth?" I whisper in disbelief. Shrugging and putting it in the back of my mind I start to put the books back. When I'm done with everything that goes in the Magical Creatures section there is still a large amount of books missing from the shelves. "Odd." I shake my head and push the trolley off to the section filled with biographies, self-written as well, entitled 'Who's Who in the Magical World.'

"_Could be," he says._

"_So you want to – " I let him finish the sentence._

Using spells to put the books back in their place makes time slow. It's effortless, yes, but time seems to almost stop, going at a snails pace. I'm so bored that I get lazy with my spells and drop a book. I gasp and jump out of the way. Cursing, though I know I shouldn't, I decide I should just put it back without magic. I use this tactic with the rest of the books.

"_I want you to meet me here, again," he says._

"_But it will look like – " _

"_Like the two smartest pupils of Hogwarts are studying at a table together – I'm not your enemy, I'm Potter's."_

_I contemplate this, and I'm scared to admit it, I'm interested. I finally say, "I'll pencil you in."_

_He does this crooked smile thing, where one corner of his mouth turns upwards. "So, it's, uh … what is the word? A date?"_

* * *

Say anything you need to say. Ginny chapter up next :)

Just in response to the fact that I said I don't really want to write more if not given comments; it's not very encouraging to keep going if no one even has a bit of constructive criticism on how to make the story better._ Rather,_ it's very discouraging. It leaves one thinking, should I continue to write? So thanks to those who have things to say, positive and negative.


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